


to the very core of my soul

by Calla_Lilalma



Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arslan-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mind Manipulation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Protectiveness, Psychological Torture, going with the newer anime version btw, king!Arslan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-01-15 11:37:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18498172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calla_Lilalma/pseuds/Calla_Lilalma
Summary: Arslan rushes to the entrance of the castle in haste and what he finds drains the blood off his face.It was supposed to be an investigation on suspicious activity just half a day away from Ecbatana and a day or two ordeal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hei everyone! This idea has been in my head for a while and all I needed was rewatch some episodes of the anime (the newer one) to go for it. 
> 
> I was planning it to be a one shot but it just didn't fit so I'm challenging my fear and making it a chaptered fic... shudder. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are welcome! :)  
> Enjoy!

Arslan rushes to the entrance of the castle in haste and what he finds drains the blood off his face.

 

_ It was supposed to be an investigation on suspicious activity just half a day away from Ecbatana and a day or two ordeal.  _

 

But now, when he finds Shabrang with another soldier as a rider, one who is wounded, his throat tightens. 

 

He runs after the healers that carry the man away. 

 

“What happened?” he asks immediately. Even from the little medical knowledge he has, the man appears severely wounded and on the edge of unconsciousness. 

 

The man parts his lips and gurgles a broken response. 

 

“I-I don't… out of n’wher -” he coughs up blood, “ D-Daryu-un sa-sama-”

 

“I'm sorry, your Highness but he must not speak.” one of the doctors dismisses him and throws orders at her staff. Arslan becomes stone at his place, heart threatening to pound out of his robes. 

 

He comes back the entrances, where Narsus already has gathered a bigger group of soldiers and a plan of rescue and assessing the threat in his mind. Arslan listens intently and approving when Narsus throws a questioning glance at him.

 

They watch them leave out of the castle and their sight and Arslan desperately wishes he could go with them, go find his Knight and bring him home.

 

For now, he has to prepare for a possible new threat on the horizon. 

 

**

 

The moment Arslan meets Narsus’ eyes, all the hope he briefly has, vanishes.

 

“They searched the whole area, your Highness…” his advisor starts, “They haven't found anything yet. It's still early.”

 

Arslan feels his eyelids weigh down in exhaustion. With each breath, he feels like he's going to fall apart on his seams and the papers he was desperately trying to distract himself with are forgotten.

 

He actually startles to alert when a hand lands on his shoulder, comforting and supportive. In his tired delirium, he forgets, looks up to find kind, strong golden eyes but finds gentle violet instead. 

 

When did Narsus get here? How long has he been spacing out ignoring calls and words for the other to physically touch him to wake him? 

 

_ His Knight never touched him unless it was an issue of life and death. Out of too much respect, giving him space, no matter how Arslan longed to close the gap between them and- _

 

“Your Highness…” he startles once more out if his daydreaming by the soft time coming from his side, “As much as I'd have liked to take the opportunity of such concentrated stillness to paint you, I'm assuming you've been awake while we've been gone. Please rest.” 

 

Arslan shakes his head, snow white and entangled strands of hair falling on his face. He's run his hands so many times that the braid Lady Farangis had done has become pitiful. His robes have become wrinkled and folded. 

 

He must look like a royal mess. Not a royal ruler.

 

Even so, he fully knows sleep won't fully claim him. He's had some hours of sleep and it was restless, fruitless and only made him more tired and unproductive. 

 

Predicting his thoughts, Narsus’ has a ready solution, “I'll get Elam to make you a potion that always helped me with slumber. Pars needs you alert.”

 

Arslan finds himself still and stubborn, a lingering proof of his young age, past the naive child but still new in his adulthood, despite the horrors they've lived.

 

Narsus still smiles, fondness mixed with playfulness,  “Don't you have faith in your Eran? That man won't be brought down so easily and he surely wouldn't want you worrying for his sake. That's his duty.”

 

He succeeds in making Arslan’s shoulders lose their tension a little and quirk his lips in a faint smile.

 

“If anything happens, please don't hesitate informing me.”

 

“Absolutely. Please rest assured.”

 

Elam finds him in his quarters with a cup of warm soothing tea, mixed with a light sleep portion that has him finally succumbing in the darkness with one heartfelt prayer to the Goddess to bring him his cherished friend home safely. 

 

**

 

The next day, he trains with Gieve and loses so spectacularly it's pitiful. Too many times he finds himself on his back or on his knees, full of dirt and scraped skin. 

 

“Your mind is elsewhere, my liege.” the other sighs and sheaths his sword. 

 

Arslan takes the hand offered to him and smiles tiredly, “I apologize. I-”

 

Gieve gives him a wave of dismissal, it's audacity always refreshing in his case, “I know, I know...But if you keeps this up, your Highness, your head being elsewhere will be the next dark irony of my morning lullabies.”

 

That perks him up, making him chuckle weakly, his mood slightly elevated, “I will keep th-”

 

“Your Highness!” he hears a frantic voice rushing to him in desperation. 

 

“What is it?” he asks immediately, serious demeanor returning.

 

The messenger pants, bent with hands on knees. “Come to the medical ward -”

 

He doesn't need to ask any further. Like a man dying of thirst, he runs blindly to the source of possible relief, for once not bothering to apologize to the servants that he stumbles upon. 

 

Narsus and Farangis are already there too, with the head of the healers whispering to them. Their heads snap in surprise at his slamming of the door. 

 

“What happened?” he asks, barely holding back the tremble of his voice. 

 

The head of the medical ward beckons him closer with a nod. In one of the beds, he finds the man from the other day, bandages but awake. However, his eyes aren't steady nor clear. 

 

“His wounds are deep and he doesn't have much time. He can speak but I doubt he'll be very coherent.” she says solemnly. 

 

Arslan’s stomach drops but his legs take him to the side of the bed quick like lightning. 

 

“Can you hear me?” he prods gently but not in a whisper.

 

The man's eyes land on him, leave and stay in repetition. His head frantically bobs up and down. 

 

“What happened out there? Where is Daryun?”

 

“Darkness!” the man suddenly screeches thrashing in the bed and almost headbutting him. Arslan flinches and Farangis is at his side, pulling him back. 

 

“Horrible horrible darkness… ” Arslan sees the man rocking back and forth absolutely crazed, “... We fought we fought… Daryun-sama told me to… to to get into the horse and return! They chased… I don't know… i returned… it hurts… your Highness! It hur...hurts…” the man's mouth becomes full of froth, saliva and drop dripping to the covers from his gaping jaw.

 

The man stops moving, eyes rolled white to the back of his head. It's a haunting, hideous sight. 

 

Arslan’s clinging to Farangis, definitely bruising her forearm, staring at the healer near the soldier and pressing her fingers on the inside of his bony wrist. 

 

She shakes her head at then, the clearest signal. Arslan gasps wetly, his thunderous heartbeat the only sound in his head, above the voices of his comrades. 

 

“Your Highness…” Farangis rocks him gently to land him back to this world. He looks up at her and her eyes are full of concern as she wipes a few strands of his forehead. From that, he realizes a new layer of sweat has covered his brow. 

 

“Narsus.” he calls; it comes out hoarse and cracked. His head is buried to Farangis’ shoulder. “Send reinforcements to where he came from.  We need to find out more about what exactly happened.”

 

**

 

The days pass in agony. He can't count the number of times Narsus has come to him with the same absence of news; the soldiers search and search and never find anything. 

 

He sends others to investigate with discretion at parts of Pars, believing maybe they can catch whispers or rumors, the faintest trace to where Daryun is.

 

Arslan has nearly chewed his nails off from concern. He's been away from Daryun for a spanse of a couple of days, but not since he'd been fighting for the throne years ago. Since he won over the right being king, Daryun has been by his side, an ever present feeling of safety surrounding him  covering Arslan like a warm blanket. 

 

All he feels now is cold and lonely. Hollow of his precious knight, comrade and friend but still full in yearning. Yearning that has been following him for years, growing all the more but carefully restrained deeper in the darkest part of his heart with every moment Daryun even crossed his thoughts.

 

Now that very same emotions poisons his rationality with paranoia, haunting him with possibilities his heart can't accept.

 

Daryun is alive. He's strong, he's brave, he's noble and has proven himself countless times to never cave in or give up. Arslan should have more faith in his Eran. 

 

Otherwise he won't be able to live with himself, if Daryun is forever gone, no longer by him. Even more so when he hadn't gotten the chance to express the true depths of his affection towards him. The hesitation and repercussions that've been holding him back for so long now becomes insignificant. 

 

**

 

A month is gone and the whispers begin in low waves. 

 

They don't reach his ears immediately, too caught up in his search, still fruitless. The news of Daryun disappearance aren't secret for long and everyone in Pars has different reactions. Arslan has to painstakingly deal with already loud and uncooperative nobles asking for explanations, adding more ridiculous reason to stop the developing process of freeing the slaves. It takes more than he'd have liked, but he threads carefully on the societal and political delicacy to guarantee the best for the people of Pars. 

 

He'd expect such rush and malicious whispers from them or anxious citizens that don't know any better. Not from people of his own army. 

 

“-no way the Eran has died. He's deserted us.”

Arslan tenses from behind the door of his meeting room with his military generals. He's too astonished to step in and he's sure Narsus is staying to gather more information on their beliefs.

 

“A traitor, that's what he is. I'm sure he's the one that slaughtered his own soldiers. Such strength should have been restricted when in peace.”

 

“You honestly think he's betraying his Highness? He's the  _ Eran _ and always next to his Highness.”

 

“We've been betrayed and slaughtered by our own before. If he's not dead, he's definitely pretending to be to make his move and destroy us-”

 

“Silence!” he finally yells, barging into the room fiercely, blazing, shaking from head to toe with rage. “If I hear further, you'll be the ones punished for treason.”

 

The room becomes impossibly silent now.

 

“Have you no shame? Slandering Pars’ Eran in such a moment? You lot have fought by him and you backstab him and his reputation in the slightest inconvenience?”

 

No one moves a muscle, much less their tongue. In that moment, his energy drains, his head becomes light and his knees strain to stay upright. 

 

“Narsus, can you stay on my behalf and report to me after the meeting ends?” he murmurs weakly, but doesn't wait for a response before turning on his heel and heading out of the hallway, to the open part of the castle, particularly towards the stables. 

 

Air cools off his cheeks, the smell of grass and earth absorb his rage, frustration enough to clear his vision.

 

Calm once more, he notices one of the stable boys obviously in distress, holding a pack of hay in his hands. With each step forward, he flinches back a few.

 

“Is something wrong?” he finds himself asking, walking to the boy, who is much larger and may even be older than him. 

 

“Your Highness!” the boy bows his head, “I'm very sorry, I wasn't lazing around-”

 

“I believe you.” Arslan smiles reassuringly, “You can tell me if there any problems.”

 

The other swallows and looks inside the stables to a spot Arslan can't.

 

“It's, um, it's Shabrang sir. For the past month she's been, er, very difficult to handle. She's so aggressive some of us have been injured while tending to her.”

 

Arslan’s eyebrows furrow pensively. Since he could remember, it was Daryun that was exclusively tending to his horse, taking care of all her needs and training since she was but a fowl and he a young man.  

 

Daryun himself had told him how he'd found her injured and abandoned in one of his hunts and took her in. As she was from the wild, it had taken her time to trust and for that reason it's been very rarely that someone else was allowed the task, much less ride her, Arslan himself being one of that handful. Arslan’s heartbeat had skipped more than once when Daryun had told him that, a soft smile on his handsome face, while he brushed her in precise, hypnotizing movements.

 

“Let me do it.” he addresses the stable servant opening his arms to accept the pile of hay. 

 

The man shutters, grip tightening on it. “Your Highness! I can't let you do that! It's inappropriate of me-”

 

“Please. I insist. You won't find any trouble, you have my word.”

 

After a pregnant pause, the attendant fearfully nods walks him through the basics. He insists that he stays with Arslan but he caves in the opposite.

 

“You have my gratitude.” Arslan says. Now alone and definitely catching the smell of his surroundings, he nears Shabrang with flickers of doubt. They vanish when she stays calm, intelligent eyes tracking his every move. 

 

She bumps her head to his extended palm and Arslan laughs, petting the side of her neck, the center of her head never once avoiding the touch. On the contrary, she lightly bumps it to his chest, her natural strength knocking him a step back.

 

He feels the lightest he's been this month.

 

“You're right.” her coat feels rough in his fingers, most likely from the lack of care that she refuses to accept. “Our Knight will return to us.”

 

He stays like this for moments; breathing in, breathing out. Forehead upon the mare’s and eyes closed. Opening them, he relishes on the fact that he's been granted to be close to such a close part of Daryun life.

 

“Thank you.” he tells the mare, lets her eat in peace; it probably has been days since she gotten properly feed. 

 

In the meanwhile, he catches the same stable attendant, lingering and pricing with worry just far enough to give him the privacy he wanted and asks him to teach him how to curate a horse.

 

**

 

“You're here again.”

 

Arslan buries his face on the rough pillow, it smells like the soap used in the castle, clean and untouched. Yet it's more comforting than his own room. 

 

“I'm sorry for causing you trouble.” he says loudly enough to be heard from the other side of the door. 

 

Thank goodness Alfreed can't see the red rim of his eyes paired with dark bags. Nor the black tunic that fits his frame like a tent, slipping off his shoulder and greatly contrasting his pale skin. Arslan isn't sure he even has any black clothes in his own wardrobe. 

 

Daryun’s however is filled with them. His room is severely less luxurious than his own and only baring the basic needs. The bed has been unused, he knows that; it's been replaced by a couch on the outer part of his quarters, right outside of Arslan’s bedroom. 

 

In an ironic twist, Arslan now has become the only one that's lain here. Narsus had transferred the guards from his room to here after only a couple of days.

 

Alfreed knocks the door gently, “Narsus-sama told me to fetch you. There are matters to attend.”

 

With a tired sigh, Arslan gets up. His hair is full of knots, tangled and covering his face, making him look like a wretched ghost.

 

He tends to it first in slow and attentive stokes of the only brush found in the room, enjoying the additional moments of seeing himself in the loose clothes. 

 

As he changes out of them, he feels a warmth abandons his body, shivering even though it's a warm summer day.

 

With a last glance at the empty, vastly untouched room, he exits and gives Alfreed a sheepish smile.

 

She returns it with a positive grin and a supportive bump of their shoulders, one the two save exclusively for times when they are alone. 

 

“Do we have any development?” he asks.

 

Over the past one and half month, he's gotten frustratingly used to the look Alfreed gives him, pitiful and struggling to come up with words or positivity. A look of acceptance of the worst possibility Arslan grows stubbornly deaf and blind to. 

 

“I see.” he says, facing ahead, struggling not to fidget his hands. He's been reprimanded once for their atrocious lack of care twice already; he'd rather not make it more. 

 

**

 

Farangis had told him that morning that the djiins’ melody today is different. It has him on edge for the whole day. 

 

He's speaking about trade deal plans with Narsus when guards burst into the door wide eyed and stumbling in their hurry. Arslan steels himself from the feeling of repetition. 

 

“What is it?” Narsus asks calmly, if not faintly peeved- they've both been up for a long day. 

 

The guards don't seem too panicked, a good first sign.  They still confuse their words. 

 

“Da-Daryun-sama! He's… he's been spotted outside Ecbatana-”

 

Arslan doesn't hesitate to stand and run away, but Narsus hand stops him from exiting the room. 

 

“Please don't be hasty, my young denka.” he says in stern courtesy. “We must be prepared for a possible ploy.” as sigh escapes him, “At least go out in armor and some kind of defense.”

 

With his armor on and riding Shabrang, he gallops to the outside of Ecbatana, leaving the others behind. His blood is wild inside his body, his mind focused solely ahead. The sound of the wind covers the voices if his comrades. 

 

Finally outside the walls, there he is. Alone, in armor and helmet, spear on hand and riding slowly towards them. 

 

“Daryun!” a wide smile splits Arslan’s face as he runs to his knight's side. It flickers to worry when Daryun doesn't address him back.

 

“Are you hurt?” he looks at him up and down from up close. His armor has only a few scratches on and minor dents. Despite that, he looks unharmed. 

 

“Daryun?” he calls again, with worry.

 

This time he responds, lifting his head and looking at Arslan. Shabrang halts and starts to move away on her own.

 

He doesn't have time to be confused as the blade of Daryun’s spear coming his way, hits his armored ribs and sends him doubling down Shabrang. 

 

The pain on his back strikes after a moment or two, his vision blurring momentarily. When he recovers, he barely has time to roll over and avoid the second strike that was about to impale and kill him. The third catches his cape and the air is knocked off his lungs, prevents him from getting up. 

 

Suddenly, he's free and breathing. From the corner of his eye, he sees Narsus and Elam engaging in battle, the former standing between him and his friend. 

 

“Get away.” Narsus grunts, meeting Daryun’s spear’s hit head on one by one, but Arslan can see the heavy strain on his expression and body. Elam fairs worse, his smaller frame is pushed back from the force. 

 

Daryun’s stamina has always been feral and seemingly unstoppable, and now it proves to be true again. With the range advantage and also using the fact he's on the horse, he sends both Narsus and Elam on the ground, even though not without the latter striking the its legs and dismounting Daryun to be on ground level as the rest of them. 

 

With one way determination on his posture, Daryun runs towards him. Arslan’s grip on his sword is iron but his resolve isn't. 

 

Daryun’s a warrior whose inspired both fear and awe in everywhere his name is heard, he's become a legend whose prowess has been the subject of tales across the countries. The fierce Tiger’s deed have been told along with Arslan’s story of reclaiming the throne of Pars - neither can be told fully without the other. Like the people themselves, you couldn't have one without be aware of the other. 

 

Yet now after all these years, Arslan is unfortunate to be at the same place as so many of their enemies and finally understanding. The crippling strength, the tenacity of the strikes and the helplessness of being unable to win. Arslan feels it all accumulated now, along with his heartbreak. A betrayal even stronger than the one that costed him the throne all those years ago, the one that started it all. 

 

His arm is shaking from the vibration. So does his armor, his muscles can't stand any longer and his lungs are out of breath. His heart bleeds tears into his eyes.

 

He's not fighting like a warrior, much less like a king. All those years of lessons have stopped applying the moment his opponent became the one that makes his soul resilient, the one that owns his heart even if he never even knew it.

 

He can't help but cry out his despair in cracked voice. Goddess, he must sound like the same brat that was looking for his parents’ attention, meek and unused to the cruelty of the world around it. 

 

“Daryun! Please! Stop this!”

 

His sword, his only form of defense is ready to break. Only a few more times and Arslan will find his demise by the most important man in his life. 

 

The crack on the blade expands to the width of the sword, cracking much like Arslan’s very soul. He feels heavy, defenseless. 

 

When it finally breaks, a small rogue shard scratches his cheek a surface wound that bleeds only a drop, much like a papercut. He's sent tumbling to the ground.

 

That’s it. He has little else to fight with. 

 

Daryun’s face might be the last thing he sees before his demise. That warm and kind expression he's so used to is now cold and unrelenting, like Arslan is just nothing and no one that matters to him. 

 

“Daryun…” he whispers one last time. If he has to die, he'd like to perish with his beloved name on his tongue, while looking at his face when he closes his eyes forever. 

 

The spear raises to deliver the final blow.

 

Frozen and shaking on the ground, the moments feel like an eternity.

 

But the spear doesn't come down. Instead, Daryun’s grip loosens do little that Arslan can see it only because he's so close. 

 

“De..nka…” Daryun speaks for the first time; a strained whispering of…  _ recognition? _

 

Then he notices it. How Daryun’s eyes flash to a vicious blood red multiple times before turning back to gold. It's like the colors are fighting with each other for dominance. 

 

“Daryun?” he slowly extend his hand towards him, uncaring of his situation. 

 

No situation can keep him from caring and trying to console his Knight - Daryun’s always his Knight, his Eran- especially when he looks in so much pain. 

 

The grip on the spear loosens more significantly now and Daryun grits his teeth, closes his eyes and takes a unsteady step back. 

 

It's an opening. And his other comrades latch on to it immediately. 

 

They surround Daryun and push Arslan away. It's like the spell breaks and with now blood red eyes Daryun attempts to fight all of them and he resists despite being outnumbered. 

 

“Farangis!”  Alfreed calls and from above his head, an arrow passes him by and manages to graze Daryun’s neck. His body falls moments after. 

 

Arslan hurries to his side clumsily. Checking the wound and his pulse, more tears escape him when he finds a steady, strong rhythm underneath his fingertips. 

 

“It's just tranquilizing poison.” Farangis reassures him, while Alfreed helps him to his feet, wrapping an arm around his torso. “A dose much higher than usual, but that much was needed to subdue him.”

 

“Ay, Ay… I never thought I'd have to fight the Eran for real…” Gieve pants, “That was stressful… Farangis-dono if it weren't for you-”

 

“I was aiming for two birds with one stone.”

 

All the while, Narsus stays quiet. It's the pensive look he has when he's assessing an enemy strategy, when possibilities crowd his head. 

 

“Narsus-”

 

“That was irresponsible of you my liege.” his tone is hard and Arslan flinches but doesn't break their eye contact until Narsus sighs and his anger evaporates. “I saw them too- the eyes. We all did. There is something more to this.”

 

Arslan smiles grimly. His fingertips move up graze Daryun’s uninjured cheek after he gently takes off his helmet and lays his head on his lap. 

 

_ What happened to you, my precious knight? _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hei everyone!  
> First, thank you for the comments and kudos! Because it's a small and quite inactive Fandom and a ship i was posting this for myself mostly so I was very pleasantly surprised to see that people commented and liked the first chapter. 
> 
> Second, I am planning to finish this in the next few months at most. Multichaptered fics make me nervous 'cause i tend to lose the speed in updating them - but not this one! I'm determined to see this through relatively soon (for my standards) 
> 
> Lastly, I hope you enjoy this second chapter! I kept rereading to edit it and I just have to stop before I get to nitpicking it completely. This chapter too is updated and written from my phone (I'm on vacation and only have access to Internet here so it's a good thing.) Sorry for any accidental mistakes anyway.
> 
> Kudos and Comments are always welcome! :)

"Absolutely not!" he snaps before Narsus had even finished his inquiring.

 

"Denka," he pauses with a tired sigh- there is no doubt he's been up for as long as him to attend their duties- "It's dangerous to let him be unrestrained for when he wakes up. And the medical wing has only so much power to hold him in after not finding anything physically wrong with him."

 

"And that's your best solution?!"

 

Farangis takes a step forward from her spot, her typically stoic face distinctly softened. 

 

"Whatever his captors did to him, it's not for science and medicine to explain. I'll have to examine him further myself to see."

 

"And you all think throwing him in the dungeons will be beneficial!? That being confined in stone and darkness will help him recover?!" Arslan struggles to keep his voice measured, "Can we really treat him like he's some kind of criminal?" 

 

"If you excuse me for my rudeness, your Highness," Jaswant says softly, carefully and taking Arslan’s silence as a sign to keep going,"But Daryun-sama is still technically a criminal that committed treason by attempting to assassinate you. Eran he may be, but he is not above the fair law that you saw through. Until we undoubtedly prove his innocent, his actions make him guilty." He tries to be a gentle as possible but his words pierce like iron spears nonetheless.

 

He can feel his eyes sting and he covers them with his palm. He's fighting a losing battle, his mind repeats, however his heart is not hard enough to not exhaust itself until complete surrender. 

 

Elam moves around the desk and stands next to him, closer than he normally prefers, and the presence does appreciated little.

 

"Why don't we confide him to his quarters at least?"

 

"Not built for someone like our Eran. Little to keep him in and everything can be used as a weapon. I'm pretty sure he can kill us all with only a broken bed frame. And that's not the way I want to go out." Gieve's shoulders slump when his quip does the opposite of lightening the suffocating atmosphere in the room.

 

"Besides, having him in that state inside the castle will agitate the other generals and civilians. His position and his fidelity in you are already tested but witnessing that will give them footing to undermine him further. Or you, by letting your favouritism cloud your judgment."

 

Arslan bites the inside of his cheek so hard that it draws blood. In a way it's soothing; the pain of it a mere peck compared to what his soul is suffering through.

 

Suddenly, Narsus asks them to empty the room for the two of them to speak privately. With Arslan's eager approval, they are left alone, Elam being the last and most hesitant. 

 

Once the door is closed and no one lingers outside with certainty, Narsus' neutral face cracks. The tiredness of before settles like it belongs and there is the same anguish Arslan feels since everything started in his normally cool and mirthful eyes. 

 

"Daryun, I'm sure you know Denka, has this gift." he starts, awkwardly so for a wordsmith of his caliber. "That strength and and resolve that borderlines to foolishness at times. But it makes everyone around him gravitate towards him. It reaches far and beyond. We were both saved by it, you and me both your Highness." the words become a fond whisper that he wouldn't hear if not for the deafening silence of the room and Arslan holding his breath.

 

It's overwhelming to be a witness to that. To see his advisor and close comrade, strong and calm and resilient, in such a vulnerable position, hearing a little more about his story with Daryun. Of a time Arslan was still trying to walk or even before that. 

 

Narsus continues just as lowly, "Making tough decisions is what I do, their cruelty is not lost on me. The only thing that comforts me is that I know for certain it'd be what he'd wanted us to do."

 

Arslan breath pains his lungs,"I know that as well. But Daryun always put us above himself."

 

"Only for you, if I may be completely sincere." he finally looks up, his expression and smile now a little more reminiscent of normalcy, as if he knows something he doesn't or neglects "Undying loyalty is too mild to describe his devotion to you. And knowing him, the dungeons are preferable to the slightest chance of you being hurt, even more so by his own hand. I don't think he'll be able to survive that, your Highness."

 

Arslan swallows the bile in his throat, heart beating frantically and breath erratic and shallow. But he must reign it all. He achieves it with closing his eyes for a second and taking a deep breath before opening them again. 

 

Arslan must gather himself, his wits and harden his heart for the sake of Pars. Otherwise their enemies, including the people that caused this all to happen, will get brave, find this opportunity to strike and harm his home. 

 

They all have known how Daryun is one of the pillars holding Pars and his king brave and strong. Now with him indisposed, Pars is vulnerable both internally and externally. Their current despair is part of their plans.

 

But what they are underestimating is Arslan’s wrath, hidden by his deceiving appearance, evoked when they dare threaten the country and the people he cares about. They haven't realized that the fierce protectiveness between him and his beloved Knight is mutual burning both of their souls.

 

And that will be the reason for their demise.

 

The following words thankfully come out like he wanted to, stern and determined and victorious over the ache.

 

"Alright then."

 

**

 

Signing documents and strategizing to cover the gap that Daryun’s absence has left behind is one of the ways he chooses to distract himself, restrain his mind from wandering to unwanted directions and not feel completely helpless as he waits. 

 

(On occasion, whenever he's suffocating and drowning from everything and the loneliness is at every moment he'd be at the stables, tending at Shabrang who is more eager to help him release some stress in the form of a ride around Ecbatana. Solely that can truly help him find peace of mind these days.)

 

He had sent Gieve to investigate the perpetrators along with Alfreed and a decent group of soldiers, Farangis is working on treating Daryun down in the dungeons, where Arslan is making sure to be treated as well as possible. Narsus has too much to tend to already as his advisor, but him and Arslan try their best to appease the doubts, misinformation and panic that threaten to be widely spread.

 

Of course he doesn't assign a new Eran, or even ponders the question, but he does assign Jaswant to be his close bodyguard. There are still some comments about putting a foreigner in such a high position so close to the king, but Arslan cuts through them promptly. Jaswant has more than proven himself while fighting at his side, the trust in each other is iron clad.

 

Arslan catches himself at times; he can't help but noticing some similarities to his Eran. The protectiveness and concern in their gaze, their stiff posture and hyper alertness along with their serious but kind demeanor have his mind confused.

 

More than once he finds himself holding his tongue for uttering the wrong name while his mind is occupied.

 

(He believes Jaswant has noticed. But he's too good natured and respectful to address the matter.

 

Or maybe he's protecting himself from further heartbreak at Arslan’s signs of affection towards another after his confession of love a year ago was proven unrequited. It was buried deep in his mind with continuous occurrences and Arslan hopes it has passed for both of their sakes.)

 

They stay here until late afternoon, when the moon has long come out and Jaswant has to plead with him to get some rest and Arslan becomes to blurry eyed to put much resistant.

 

By now, most people have realized that Arslan isn't residing in his royal quarters anymore. The rare times he isn't drowning himself in paperwork and leading the country, he'll be at Daryun’s room (the  _ former _ Eran's room he heard once whispered and it rings like canonfire next to his ears). 

 

He'd wear his loose fitting tunics -and only them- chase the hints of his earthy musk to lose himself into false comfort or to lewd fantasies he's too weak to resist and so craving to escape. Then,  _ like before _ , he'd feel ashamed after- the only thing that hasn't changed.

 

_ (Before, he had been careful to indulge to them only in his own quarters late at night, stuck between being careful not to make a sound to alert the one he's been imagining touching him and making love to him, or acting the idea of being heard and seen so needy and plaint in the plush bed, rolling Daryun’s name on his tongue as slowly and languidly as the movements of his invading fingers that his knight won't be able to control himself and take him roughly, act all at once his requited lust for his king, forbidden and so tempting to taste. _

 

_ He'd whisper his titles first, certainly, amusingly and embarrassingly, before Arslan begged him in the throes of passion to call him by his name, completely unadorned. He'd obey and whisper it to his flustered ear and Arslan would be coming apart to pieces, shed of everything but pleasure. _

 

_ Arslan always recovered from the bliss red in the face, ears and heart pounding, shuffling and rushing to wash his soiled hands. The first greetings of the day with Daryun were awkward, as if he was a child attending his very first banquet.) _

 

It's unbecoming of him; a king who fought with tooth and nail to gain his throne, now disoriented by the person closest to him being in peril.

 

Narsus' words provide him some comfort though, as does wearing Daryun’s tunics and lying on his bed, which have both a soothing effect at the faux feeling of embrace and also curling to himself in order to not sink in his agony simultaneously.

 

(But recently he remembers Andragoras and his lessons of being king more often too. Before it was because Arslan swore to never be like him, but now he'd be lying if his toughened demeanor would be unwanted. He also remembers his own youth and immaturity, his body becomes dwarfed by the throne and strained by the burden of making a decision like this.)

 

Rest doesn't come easy to him in nights like this. When it's dreamless, it's short and light like rabbit sleep. The tension of the day manifests fully in his toss and turning, his thoughts finally finding unleashed to roam his mind.

 

He buries himself further in the bed, searching the familiar and comforting remaining traces, willing his mind to imagine his Knight's presence here, close to him, and not in the dark dungeons below the ground.

 

**

 

When the mark of the fortnight comes, Arslan descends to the dungeons alone. 

 

He has given Farangis enough time to work alone and that time has passed. Arslan is restless by the passing of time, more and more incriminating and punishing. Arslan cannot, will not, silence his people's speech; that will make him the same as any other tyrant. And the people are talking their concerns loudly, albeit not yet clearly or surely. Arslan has to hurry and he has to have undisputable results to prevent the from doing so.

 

However, above all, he wants Daryun back and away from here. The days and night that pass only make whatever plagues his mind delve deeper, much like fears and doubts do everyone else.

 

_ "It's for the best not to come for the time being." Farangis had told him after his decision, "To not risk another berserk reaction towards you, your Highness." _ Like a pack of wolves, the words are feasting of his sanity. 

 

Daryun’s cell is the furthest away, isolated even among the others. The way there is long, empty and so deadly silent that only his careful footsteps and flickering flames make sound.

 

He halts when he arrives in front of the cell. At first there us nothing to see. A second look though reveals a bulky shadow in the depths of it, the flame licking briefly tan skin and then dissappearing, as if they were burned.

 

Arslan unlocks the cell with loud clanking of iron and enters like he's intruding someone's quarters.

 

They are alone, the two of them after so long, after the last turbulent time he saw him. Felt his actuality and not just the ghost of his presence is in of itself unraveling Arslan.

 

Yet, by the current image of his knight is a whole another kind of reality he has to swallow.

 

Arms chained by chains connected to the wall, Daryun is sleeping or unconscious, his head hanging in front of him with his hair loose and matted with dirt, lifelessly hiding and clinging to his face. He only wears a pair of tattered pants that have been frayed on the knees, scarped and bleeding from the constant stance. His torso is bare, showing his hard earned muscles but o

also the famine; Arslan gnaws at his lower lip, holding back the pitiful mewl at the realization that all this time, despite his efforts, Daryun has not eaten.

 

Arslan himself isn't wearing any armor, only his most plain cotton clothes, soft and thin. His only protection are his bare hands, not one blade hidden because their weight would be unbearable to carry.

 

Arslan crouches in a courteously respectful distance to the other man, waiting for him to wake. Observing.

 

"Daryun." he whispers, not strongly enough to even echo. The other doesn't stir at all. Arslan tries a second time, his voice slightly higher in volume and equal gentleness. They can't expect him to talk to his greatest pillar like he means nothing to him.

 

When Daryun doesn't stir nor at the third nor at the forth time, Arslan shuffles closer, full of naiveté and open spots. He abides to his aching fingers' desire and reaches out to unkempt raven strands and pushes them away from his face behind his ear, tracing the shell with feather light touch. 

 

It confirms of a tired, tortured expression that doesn't find rest even in slumber. There are dark bruises under tightly shut, twitching eyelids as evidence. Cracked lips and hollowed cheeks and a painfully clenched jaw further support that.

 

Arslan doesn't show any hesitation to touch his sharp cheekbone. Fingertips first trace it with care, then they are replaced with a braver palm cupping Daryun’s jaw, thumb caressing circles. It seems to work as he senses a bit of tension leaving his jaw and eyes.

 

Arslan smiles grimly. He could never imagine that the first time he touched the other so intimately would be under these dire circumstances. In his most secret of dreams, he imagined an initial awkwardness as he'd have to get in his tiptoes to properly reach up, Daryun’s tension and confusion that would make Arslan laugh and shut the other up with a deep, self explanatory kiss. And that's for the innocent start.

 

But fate isn't always so kind. Cruel to the bone to stomp on his building courage to come forth, but to torment his beloved so harshly.

 

To his surprise, Daryun finally shows signs of waking up, stirring just so that Arslan can sense it for so close. He calls his name in a murmur and it changes everything. 

 

Arslan shivers when his eyes lock with  _ vicious _ ,  _ hostile _ blood red ones. 

 

In an instant, he's on his rear, watching with wide eyes as Daryun bares his teeth at him, his arms trying to break through the chains by pulling with his monstrous force that impressively contradicts his weakened state. The vibrating of the chains travels throughout the cell but Arslan's focus is in the way he pays no care to the damage on his wrists. 

 

The chain on his left breaks and so does the hand with a hideous crack. Daryun resembles a caged animal, his only goal to reach Arslan, the enemy in front of him. He tries to get up but fall on his knees, most likely from his lower legs falling numb.

 

Arslan shakes the surprise away and he's relieved there is no fear in his body. He would have been devastated if there was.

 

Instead there is the same despair and heartache. 

 

The large palm comes to his neck, fingers easily curling over his pale skin like pythons. They start squeezing the breath out of his lungs.

 

Yet, he's still not afraid. He's in pain, his vision blurs, his chest burns from within at the lack of oxygen and all he hears in the terrifying silence of no blood pumping up to his head.

 

He's not the least bit afraid. 

 

Instead of clawing Daryun’s hand in a futile attempt to outmatch the strongest man in Pars, Arslan simply places both of his own gently, avoiding the broken wrist under the chains. He looks at those eyes that don't recognize him, that see him as the foe and doesn't waver. He calls for his Eran without any words, for their understanding exceeds mere words. 

 

They flicker gold, just like the first time. The grip loosens too; just enough to let the air flow in him again. 

 

Before he knows it, he's let go as Farangis appears from behind him and expertly gets in between them. Her fingers apply pressure at both of his temples and she mutter as prayer he doesn't understand or hear due to his harsh coughing.

 

From his view above her shoulder, he watches the blood red eyes rolling at the back of his head to a complete white and he goes still like a statue. Farangis man handles him as much as she can a man of his weight and size to place his head at her lap, fingers never leaving his temples and still murmuring. 

 

After the silence, she opens her eyes and smiles in an attempt to comfort him.

 

"Are you alright, my king?" she asks. 

 

Arslan nods absent-mindedly and doesn't avert his eyes from his unconscious beloved. 

 

"It's the first time he awoke while in the cell. The last time, it was while he was being transferred to the cell. Same possessed eyes, that see no reason. The djinns were rattling." Farangis continues, her fingers rubbing circles at his temples, much like Arslan did. But he pushes the irrational jealousy to the depths on his mind and locks it there forever.

 

"Whatever they did to him, it has turned his fidelity to you on its head. He kept chanting that he must kill you like mad." 

 

Arslan finally looks up to her, feeling faint and numb all over. 

 

"He's in pain," he exclaims, "all this time, he's suffering. This-"  he touches his neck, undoubtedly full with blooming bruises, "-is not him."

 

"He's battling with himself." she confirms. "Their magic is strong and brutish. But-"  she smiles briefly, "Now I can see that we can fix it." she beckons him here. Arslan moves without any grace to sit on his knees next to her. 

 

"How?" he asks, hope already warming up in his heart. 

 

As an answer, she lets her hands go and takes one of his in them. Below them, Daryun stirs again, and the pained expression on his face reappears. Until Arslan’s hands replace hers, then his face for once is resting properly in calm.

 

"They were in such a rush to bend the will of the most loyal knight in so little time that they only managed to force their heinous spells to the surface. The core of him is still there, untouched but hidden. Perhaps it was wrong keeping you away in the first place. His true self still reacts to you in his subconscious and overcomes the fog of the spell. We must keep doing that and you are the key to have him with us again."

 

In the dark, moldy cell Arslan feels the warmth of spring. His relief and hope are fully flourishing and budding and for the first time in what felt like centuries, so does his smile.  

 

**

 

The process is similar to calming a caged wild animal. Arslan has nightmares of these moments ones that wake him with wet cheeks.

 

He remains confident and that makes him careless; however no matter how many times Farangis warns him, reminds him of the slowly recovering hand print around his neck, he doesn't change. 

 

Daryun doesn't hurt him, mostly because of the reinforced restraints that keep him in place, but there is also Arslan’s gentle, non-threatening way of approaching. He doesn't cower under the bloody stare and waits for hints of  _ his _ to start appearing. He speaks to Daryun, like always, recounts the events while he's gone and tries to get him fed and hydrated before his body collapses on itself too.

 

(It's much like his time with Shabrang; rider and steed aren't so much different after all.)

 

At times he goes alone, on others with Farangis to check on him and say the prayers needed to lighten the curse part by damned part. Her constant presence has proven to be counter productive, only serves as another threat for Daryun’s warrior side to face. 

 

A couple of times, Narsus had found the strength to join them. It was proven to be disastrous however, the more familiar the faces crowding together, the more painful it proved as his knight torment had him bleeding from his nose and ears.

 

Arslan by himself gets more reactions out of him, it shows. At first it's hard but they prevail, together. He can see flashes of molten raging gold fighting back relentlessly, vigorously.

 

This everyday by now routine though is abruptly interrupted when Azrael arrives with a message from Gieve and Alfreed that shakes him. 

 

_ They've found the perpetrators' hideout. _ After investigating around, hunting all the tracks the were presented with, their search bore fruit. 

 

Arslan is already saddling up his horse, giving Shabrang a break until her true rider comes back soon, along with Jaswant and only a handful of soldiers, they are all headed to Gieve and Alfreed's location whilst being as inconspicuous as possible. 

 

They all meet in a shady tavern in the night they arrive, Arslan hidden in his peasant disguise that hides his distinguishing features and so are the rest of them among the rowdy patrons. Gieve looks like he belongs there while Alfreed has downed him with questions about Narsus. 

 

"They are Hermes' magic friends. Lurk in anything and everything dark. A real pain in the ass, in my humble opinion." Gieve informs them casually, eyes and smiles skirting around and staying at the people that catch his eye. "Their base is mostly covered in the shadows even during daylight. But there is a precise time when  everything is completely clear and we can smoke them then."

 

"But we only get one chance, and we will be making shadows too!" Alfreed laments, downing her ale in one gulp.

 

"They are not many and they are not fighters. We can take them if we are quick as cobras."

 

"Are we sure about this?" Jaswant asks, still pensive. 

 

"We have Narsus' input too, over letter and Farangis' charms ready." Alfreed quips, narrowing her eyes, challenging them to doubt both Narsus and Farangis. Arslan gives her a calming smile.

 

"We only have one chance for this ambush to work." Gieve warns them, "Otherwise we lose them until they achieve something similar to our Eran and pull the carpet from under us."

 

"We leave before dawn. Everyone be on high alert and well rested." Arslan orders, unyielding. "We thought Hermes' allies were terminated but we were shortsighted. Now it's our only chance to weed them out and be done with them for good."

 

He retreats to his rented room on a small lodge and after cooking the herbs the head healer has prepared for him in his tea, his aggravation and anxiety are succumbed to a dreamless sleep. 

 

**

 

They return to the palace without any casualties even though some of the soldiers bear some serious wounds, and all of them are famished and tired. 

 

All except him. 

 

For once, Arslan relishes at the feeling of his enemies blood on his blood, of their dying screams and empty talk when they realize that their plans are foiled. The surprise on their faces when they see him was both precious and infuriating. 

 

_ ("Oh pitiful false king!" their leader shrieks, cackling under the mask, very reminiscent of the one Hermes wore, "Lord Hermes was killed by that monster of yours and as revenge, he will slay you in return! By yourself, you are a weakling! You'll be slayed like the bastard slave son you are!"  _

 

_ Arslan barely dodges the attack from behind, fed from his won shadow, with only a slash on his shoulder that drips warm blood _

 

_ The sheer audacity to harm his Eran to reach him, to use him as a mere pawn in their cowardly schemes of revenge. Honestly, he should have expected nothing less from Hermes' last desperate stand of destruction. _

 

_ It made him see red none the less, his sword moving without any thinking and cutting the head of the enemy with a clean cut and a blood chilling scream of his own. _

 

_ "I maybe weak alone, but my comrades and kingdom give. me strength. Threaten them and my vengeance as rain upon you like fire." _

 

_ He lets out a yell, ripped out from the depths of his pain and charges to the rest of them, sworn to cut down every single one of them.)  _

 

Taking off his heavy armor, he doesn't bother tending to his wounds or even whipping the blood off them and with a one sided mind goes down to the dungeons. 

 

His condition can wait, first he'll have to see how is his knight, whether the death of those who harmed him affected the strength of his curse.

 

Farangis looks at him, her expression exasperated with him but he's not bearing any potentially fatal injuries, she's not very worried and continues tending to Daryun’s own self inflicted scrapes and dislocated bones as well as his increasingly worrying famine.

 

Arslan approaches hastily, "Any changes? The threat was exterminated."

 

She shakes her head, "No. They spell must not have none tied to them, they took measures about their possible demise. However, we are sure there is improvement."

 

Arslan sighs but his breath in caught all at once when Daryun’s eye open in alert. 

 

"Daryun!" he can't help but exclaim. 

 

"Can you hear me Daryun-dono? Do you know who we are?" Farangis asks slowly. 

 

Daryun’s eyes take into he room and with great pleasure Arslan notices that the red in them is not as dominant as a couple of months ago. He's focused solely on Arslan. 

 

"Denka," he speaks with a raspy voice, caused by the disuse and bad health. "You're hurt… stay away from me, please." he pants in each strained words, repeating his plead disconnected from the distress.

 

Once more, he strives to soothe his cherished knight, taking his face in both his bloody pale hands and titling his head to full have his attention. 

 

"Never. This isn't your doing, Daryun. I trust you with my life that you'd never hurt me." 

 

As further proof, he fully embraces the other, wrapping his arms around broad shoulders. Chest to chest. Their heartbeats beating in irregular tempos in a off beat melody that to Arslan is better than any song.

 

"I'm not leaving. I swear it." he murmurs into the other's sweaty, salty skin and inhaling his scent, dirty and foul from so long in here, but still so  _ so _ pacifying.

 

Oh how Arslan yearns for things to have been different. 

 

For his embrace to explore further, to send the clear message his heart has written and stored, ready to be seen.

 

For his knight to not be afraid of breaking them both in his white knuckled fists and strong arms, so firm to not touch, but to be willing to create something by embracing him freely. 

 

For his own spine to have been made of iron, step up to his feelings sooner, and not being a self pitying coward full of regrets and nights of sleeping alone.

 

_ All in due time _ , he promises to himself. It can all wait. 

 

Even a thousand years are grains of sand in an hourglass.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I may have used the parentheses a lot, but I'm trying new things and so far I'm enjoying it :p  
> The ones that brainwashed Daryun are the shadow guys from the anime. They had little screen time there and will probably be a long while for a next season of the anime, so I decided to make use of them despite me knowing almost nothing about them.  
> Also, I really like pining and sexual Arslan and it was one of the things I wanted to include for sure so... yeah... 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any mistakes- I wrote this on my phone and autocorrect can be a bitch, especially with names. 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr under the username callalilalma. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! :)


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